Invidia
by little-spark
Summary: Justin Hammer gets taken into SHIELD custody shortly after the Stark Expo and is interrogated for his ties to a criminal known only as Fix. Tony is given a rocky first mission by SHIELD to guard the man he hates most. Justin/Tony, Tony/Pepper.


**Title**: Invidia  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG13, for now.  
><strong>Continuity<strong>: Movieverse, but branches off into it's own continuity directly after the events at Stark Expo.  
><strong>Characters<strong>: Justin Hammer/Tony Stark, Tony Stark/Pepper Potts.  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 5969  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: I guess language? Language is a start. Justin may or may not be a bit of a prick in his opinions of Romanova at first, but I assure you, I love her to pieces—no character bashing intended. He's just still butt-hurt about the time she smashed his face into a desk and may be a slight misogynist in general. Slash warning also, for those who freak out about boys kissing boys. PG13 for now, but violence and graphic nature might go up as the story goes on.  
><strong><br>**

SHIELD really wasn't too terrible a place—it could've been worse. It could have been some holding cell at a nasty NYPD precinct. Hell, it could have been worse than that. Life has never failed to remind me that it could get worse. This being one of those many reminders.

Although I couldn't exactly say the reminder standing in front of me in a skin-tight black cat suit was too _awful_ a reminder. Bitch or not, the scarlet-haired woman should've been life's little reminder more often. She didn't speak much after they tore the blindfold off. It wasn't until she and I were taking a handcuffed stroll through some of the most pristine hallways I'd seen in my life that she explained, "Welcome to SHIELD Central, Mr. Hammer."

I half-expected her to at least look at me when she spoke. But she didn't. Nor did she even add a customary, _"We hope you enjoy your stay,"_ or, _"We hope you die in a fiery accident,"_ or,_ "Tony Stark will take a drunken piss on everything you love."_

I may have actually expected that third line to drop in somewhere.

"W-wait, what, why am I here? What the hell is SHIELD? Where's the police?"

"The police are unnecessary at this time, Mr. Hammer." She had such a mechanical way of speaking. I remembered this—the only time she ever gave some sliver of inflection to her voice was when she'd slammed my face into a desk. I told you—_bitch_. And a cold, hard one at that. With a great ass.

Alright. Alright, so it wasn't the first time I'd been stuck in handcuffs. No need to panic. I spent a good portion of that walk just ogling the place. The soldiers standing on guard were military. They couldn't care less about me. Honestly, that was a peeve of mine. People not recognizing that _Justin Hammer_ was strolling through. The damned guns they carried probably had my company's insignia engraved into it. What kind of irony would that be? Being held up by your own product?

Sightseeing came to an end when the red head took me into an elevator. I had no idea whether we were going up or down—the floors weren't numbered. Wherever we were going, we were expected.

_"Moon river, wider than a mile _  
><em>I'm crossing you in style some day <em>  
><em>Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker <em>  
><em>Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way,"<em>

Audrey Hepburn's voice on the speakers didn't really give the sterile environment the warming atmosphere it should have. Should it have? I wouldn't know. Though it was good to know that even secret agency bases like these had the heart to throw decent music in their elevators.

I caught myself drumming my fingers over my knuckles again. Fidgeting. Uncomfortable. Of course I was going to be uncomfortable. I was probably going to get questioned and water boarded for that damned Russian's little show.

If there was anything in Russian I was going to say to the asshole, it was going to be a solid,_ "Fuck you, pal."_

...but it wasn't that bad. I reminded myself again it could've been worse. Next to these "SHIELD" characters, there were two other goons that could've taken me down. The police—and that was manageable, I could buy a slap on the wrist and a fashionable ankle bracelet—or Fix.

Right. Wasn't that bad. Could've been Fix.

But SHIELD could've been worse than Fix.

Hell...

"I don't suppose you'd introduce yourself?" I finally asked.

"I believe you are already aware of who I am, Mr. Hammer."

"No, no, no, I mean, ah, who you all are. SHIELD. Why am I here, why am I here and not with the NYPD? Why did you guys come and throw a bag over my head, shuffle me into the back of some van like a screaming little kid and knock my ass out?"

"You did not have to scream."

"I did not... for all I knew, you could've been terrorists trying to abduct me!"

"What would any terrorist organizations want with you?" The monotonous woman answered, still refusing to even look in my direction.

...did she just burn me?

I just got burned by a bitch with less vocal range than my smart phone's voice interface. And that may have actually been a pretty decent burn. Right. Fuck my life.

"Uh, money, power, prestige, I mean, hell, I'm Justin Hammer, what more could you want?"

"SHIELD does not want any of those things from you, Mr. Hammer. Just answers. I believe that is sufficient enough information considering your position."

That Audrey Hepburn song started over again in a loop. Whatever she'd been saying prior to that realization had come in one ear and fell out the other.

"...is this song on repeat?" I asked, wondering just how long that elevator ride was going to last.

"Software glitch." She replied, "As I understand, you are familiar with those."

I'm not sure what sort of expression crossed my face at that point—but I probably still have wrinkles from it. Her hair wasn't the only thing about her that was on fire. I considered just shutting up.

"Lady, you don't have to speak. You really don't. I mean, unless I'm asking you a question or something, right?" I shot back.

"I was informed that you would have questions. You're often described as having insufficient knowledge."

Why do I keep talking?

"Well," I opened my mouth but honestly had nothing. I considered informing her that I'd picked up a few new nicknames for her in the last ten minutes, but my nose was still sore from the last time she smashed it into a desk. The walls didn't look much softer.

Luckily, the doors opened at that point. Brilliant. Change the subject, save face, move on just like nothing ha—

"...what is he doing here?" I tensed up and wanted to put a fist in the face of the man that stood in the doorway. Mirroring me with a suspicious look, Tony Stark was standing there. Saying nothing. It bothered me when he said nothing, because that meant he was cooking up something annoying to say. As always.

Honestly, what did I do to deserve this? First the red head with the snake tongue and now everyone's favorite Iron Man and Audrey Hepburn looping on the elevator speakers!

"Natasha, sweetheart, you know we have hired folks in uniforms to take out the trash." Tony was in full armor, towering over both of us. Battered, burned, and I could only hope, given a hard time by the droids. But oh so goddamn irritatingly still alive.

"Yeah, well, this happens when you hire the wrong people, Tony."

"Is that so?" Tony answered, holding his helmet in one hand as he stepped into the elevator. I followed the red head—_Natasha_—but not without shooting back the same sharp glares Tony sent my way. This wasn't over. None of this was over. I was going to knock that smug grin and sharpie'd on goatee off his face personally.

"Don't think you're getting off so easy, Tony, you keep that little smirk of yours while you can!"

As the elevator doors closed he waved his fingers and winked, "Ladies love this little smirk, Hammer. You take your time, and, uh, get back to me on that later. Do the women of America a favor for once in your life, yeah?"

Asshole.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to stop talking." Natasha requested.

"Stop talking? Stop talking, who am I even upsetting, this place is a maze of empty hallways and—"

She stopped and, for the first time, looked at me with big blue eyes. Big, stoic blue eyes that probably jammed some sharp object through whatever soul I had left. Goddamn... so she was terrifying. I clenched my jaw and threw back however pissed I was like a shot of bad tequila. Fine. Fine. I could be quiet. Better for everyone. Better for me. Better to think about how to get out of this place. I can call someone in to get me out of here. I couldn't just be locked up in a cell and left to die or something, people would look for me, people would wonder just where Hammer went.

I followed her into a large room with mirrored walls—the fanciest interrogation room I'd seen in my life. Fine. Questioning. They could question me. They could ask me whatever they wanted.

Everything was falling into place—I knew exactly what this was about at that point.

And I knew probably as much about Fix as they did.

No point in trying to "act" honest.

"The hell is this, questioning me? What do you want?"

"I want you to sit down and shut up until Agent Sitwell arrives."

"Agent Sitwell." I repeated, irate. Fine. I took a seat.

Play it casual. I've got nothing to hide. They have nothing on me. Not even that little episode with Fix could be pinned on me.

I took that moment to think about all the wonderful ways Vanko could be fried. Vanko and that goddamn bird. Fry up that cockatiel and serve him up to the bastard with some spoiled caviar.

The punctual Agent Sitwell came in through a door opposite the one we entered. Like some kind of beautiful machine, Natasha stood beside the door, now joined by two burly soldiers that had accompanied Sitwell. Bald and bespectacled, clad in black, Sitwell approached with a friendly sort of smile and a good handshake—when were interrogators nice? Maybe this guy was open to some sense. Or a price.

"Mr. Hammer! Pleased to have you. I do hope the ride here wasn't too terrible?"

"Fine. Aside from getting walloped upside the head and stuffed in a van like a gullible eight-year-old, it wasn't that bad. Normally I travel by jet."

"Oh, right, I had a feeling they'd forgotten," Sitwell answered, taking an orange tootsie roll pop from a jacket pocket and tossing it my way. I caught it. First time in my life I wasn't that interested in my favorite sucker.

I placed it back on the table between us, "Sorry. Don't take candy from strangers."

"Fair enough. I'll make sure to bring a Russian physicist next time."

I chuckled half-heartedly, "Yeah? Fantastic. I'd look forward to that if I weren't trying to quit."

"Nasty sort of habit, isn't it?"

"Let's just cut to the chase here, what do you guys want with me? Why am I here?"

Sitwell leaned forward and clasped his fingers together—he had an iron sort of gaze and something cold and steel behind that smile. It was an insincere kind of welcome that probably could've suckered in a more gullible Justin Hammer. But it was the same routine that had gotten me stuck and dog-tagged by Fix. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

"I want to talk about jewelry."

Jewelry.

So it was Fix.

"Not a big fan." I answered.

"Your right hand begs to differ."

"Wedding ring, high school sweetheart. What of it?"

"Wedding rings go on ring fingers, Mr. Hammer. You haven't been married for almost twelve years."

"What can I say? She left me. I'll always keep a part of her close to my heart."

"I wasn't aware Mister Fix was a female, Mr. Hammer."

I sucked on my tongue and eyed the interrogator at a temporary stalemate.

"Often, if I might add, it didn't start showing up until about a year ago. I'm going to be direct with you, Mr. Hammer. We've got all the evidence we need pointing to your connection to Fix right there on your little finger. Now you can either tell us everything you know and face slightly less painful consequences, or we can just take our answers by force, and I promise you, in here, you are not protected by any manner of laws. What happens in SHIELD gets erased from the paperwork all the time. In fact, if you play your cards wrong, you could even be erased all together."

Erased all together? What a laugh. What a much needed laugh.

"Erase me? Erase Justin Hammer? Right. That's gold. That's precious. Just how do you go about convincing my fans and benefactors that I just never existed, huh? How do you go about picking up the pieces blown to Beijing and back if I'm not around to keep deals organized?"

"Please keep your voice down; I can hear you just fine. No need to get childish. You've got your lolly."

Fuck his lolly—I wanted to get out of there, I wanted to start planning a nameless, paperless vacation to my beach house and lay low until the shitstorm blew over. Or even Switzerland—haven't been there in a few years. I could go for an early Christmas.

"Mister Fix gave you that ring." Sitwell said rather mechanically.

It took me a moment to find a way to verbally squirm out of the situation, but I started to remember why I was so admittedly a coward. I was a coward and nothing felt bad about that at all. If you weren't a little bit of a coward, you were an idiot.

Every man for himself.

"Yeah. Yeah, Fix gave me this. Not much else by way of an explanation. Call it fan mail. Fan mail I can't take off."

Sitwell shook his head and grinned, "Succinct but unfortunately, we're at one of those rare moments where a few extra words out of you would be nice."

"What do ya want out of me? You dragged me all the way here for the ring? Fine! Go on, go head and take it! Everything, everything you need, everything I know? All right here. Go ahead, take it and leave me out of whatever the hell you've got on Fix. I've got nothing to do with Fix."

"You and I both know that's impossible. Bluffing's not going to get you anywhere."

Bluffing? Who said I was bluffing? I could go without one little finger. Luke Skywalker went without a hand!

"Just cut the damn thing off and count me out."

"Are you even aware of the consequences of that action, Mr. Hammer?"

Consequences.

The way he said it got me thinking.

He caught me at a loss and I looked down at the ring again. Round and gold, encrusted straight through the middle with two parallel silver rows. Beneath the ring, my fingers had been practically painted in 25x bronzer for the last few months. Since those lines started showing up.

There was no giving it a little twist and pulling it off. I could remember clearly just how awful it felt when Fix had the thing put on. No—the thing wasn't coming off without taking my whole pinky finger with it. Fix had a way of reminding his lackeys that, I'd heard. We made a deal and he didn't need signatures. Just the wire tap from hell.

The lines were faint enough for a little make up and bronzer to hide, but the fact that they were there couldn't go unforgotten.

I feigned a chuckle, trying to swallow just how much the thought of Fix's "consequences" scared the shit out of me. None of this had ever been a joke. Being here. Being interrogated by a man who could probably jump over the table and snap my neck in half a breath and with even less effort. But it was easy to flash a million dollar smile and think of ways to talk my way out of it. It wasn't so easy anymore, I realized, reminded of that ring. Reminded of Fix's consequences.

Reminded that Vanko had thoroughly screwed me over and Fix was all too happy to throw Vanko's sloppy leftovers in an incinerator.

"Consequences. What more could anyone do to screw me further, pal? That crazy Russian screwed my company and my deal with Stern. Fix will probably find and cut down whatever's left of me. You see that and you wanna raise it? What do ya got?"

"Let's say, hypothetically, by some act of God, you managed to get out of here. To slip through our fingers. Let's say you took your little happy jet over to Switzerland and laid low enough for Fix not to find you. Just how long do you think you can hide those palladium marks under knock off fake-n-bake before they start going up your arm, across your body. Poisoning you. Like some kind of cancer. It's not just in the ring, either. You could go ahead and cut your finger off. You could cut your own arm off if you were into that. But it's in your blood now. And it's going to keep replicating. That's what nanomachines do."

So maybe I was shaking a little at that point. Doesn't hurt to be honest once or twice. None of that sounded very appealing. Worse? I knew exactly what he was talking about. Suspected, anyway. In the mirrored walls I could see my reflection. I looked like a man who was just told that he was dying. It's easy to shrug it off and point out that everyone's dying when you don't really know when it'll happen. But if I was feeling the way I did after only two months, just how long would this poison take me out if it kept replicating? A year? Six months? Replicating nanomachines were efficient little bastards. Palladium even more so.

"...so what do you suggest? You have no reason to want to help me. I don't know why Fix stuck this thing on me." I confessed, staring down at that damned ring, "I was on my back from the Arms Expo in February. You know the one that Tony showed up drunk and made that big scene with the journalist back stage? Media ate that right up. Always do. Without fail.

"I didn't even make it back to my ride when Fix's men showed up out of the woodwork. You guys have a pretty cute way of bringing guests over, you know," I said with a grin that was more irritated than amused,

"Threw a bag over my head, tossed me in some van and knocked me upside the head. I woke up tied up to some chair. It was like a date with a bad dominatrix. I didn't even see Fix. I was still blindfolded, I had a gun barrel digging into my neck. I was a hostage. I was going to do whatever they told me. So I did. Otherwise they could've just shot me there and found some other schmuck to stick the ring on.

My hand hurt like a bitch—they'd stuck the ring on before I even came to. I snapped back in around the time the ring's needles fastened into my hand. Four straight into the bone, six into the tendons. Fix told me the nanomachines deposited by the ring were going to help him keep an eye on me. He told me I was going to build him an army of Iron Men."

And that had enraged me, as though waking up to that situation hadn't already done the trick. An army of Tony's work? Hah. I could do better. I could tell the world a million times over that I could do better, even when I knew I couldn't. Nothing would ever stop me from trying.

"I told him he picked the right guy. I could give him an army better than Iron Man." I drummed my fingers against the table and paused, mulling over that experience I'd done my best to repress, "Negotiations were a bit rockier than that. I don't think Fix liked being told that he could've just gone through my secretary to set up a private conference. That's the jist of it. He made sure I knew that this ring was his way of keeping tabs on me. When I woke up, I was in my home. In my own bed. No idea how long I'd been gone. The only person who even acted like they noticed my absence was Shera, and that was because I'd missed a golfing trip the day before."

"You don't know anything further about that ring, about what's in it?"

"Nanomachines with Fix's software is about it. In fact, he probably knows exactly where I am right now. Or he might not. I don't honestly know. But he's contacted me once or twice to keep me in check. He always knew where I was."

"I have no doubts about that." Another voice came from a PA system, scaring the bejeesus out of me—it was like the voice of God himself. A very miffed-sounding, disembodied God. I looked around but was met with only my reflection, a patient Agent Sitwell, and that icy red head by the door.

That voice over the speakers sounded again. Low, predatory, with the slightest traces of a southern drawl, "Don't get us wrong, Mr. Hammer, we're not here to help you. We're not your friends. But you should also know that there's a reason Fix hasn't killed you on the spot. Would you like me to tell you what happened to another Ring bearer?"

Killed me on the spot? Ring bearer? Was that what they called him? Of course Fix wouldn't have picked only him.

"Struck by lightning?"

"I'll let Dr. Fallon fill you in on those details. But first I'm going to have to ask for your complete cooperation. From this point forward, Mr. Hammer, you are our property. You got that? We've got more important things to worry about than some sniveling little yuppie with a lollipop. Do not—do not—forget that if you want to get out of here in one piece and pretend to have a remotely familiar life after this, you're going to answer us truthfully and you're going to have to play along now, is that understood?"

What... just happened? Who was this man and why did he fill me with as much fury as he did terror?

I shrugged, "What have I got to lose?"

"Don't even make me answer that, Hammer, don't even make me. Don't think for one minute that we don't know what you'll move your skinny ass into gear for."

"Try me." Why do I keep talking when I know I should just shut up?

"Don't push him, Mr. Hammer." Agent Sitwell said softly.

"Natasha, take his ass over to Dr. Fallon. I want that ring analyzed. If he goes up in flames, have a fire crew on hand to put out the mess."

Put out the mess, wait, wait, wait, what—

"Understood." Natasha was rolling up like a calm, black storm cloud again. Everyone was moving again. Sitwell was sitting there and watching me. I was dragged to my feet and unable to break his inhuman gaze—what was I getting thrown into now?

"Hey, hey, hey, I didn't even say yes!" I barked.

"You are not required to, Mr. Hammer. We just thought you should know." Natasha said, leading me back through the doors and into that long corridor.

"What did he mean 'go up in flames'!"

"I recommend you stay calm. It is safe to say that you will not be subject to any combustion with Ring Nine. Ring Three was distinctly programmed for temperature manipulation. Consider yourself lucky." Natasha answered.

We were back in the elevator. It opened up to Tony. What the hell was he still doing there? Just what did I do to deserve this day?

"Why is he still here!" I yelled.

"Don't mind me, I'm here for the red head." Tony answered.

Natasha paused for a beat before shoving me into the elevator next to Tony. When she joined us, she had a notably different tone to her voice. I wondered if there was something going on with them. She became tense. Like a woman who was getting tired of spurning the same guy over and over. I knew that tone better than I should have.

"Did you sit in the elevator this whole time?" Natasha asked.

"Did you know your elevator playlist is glitched?"

This was awkward. They were bantering back and forth and I was in the middle. Tony even moved in closer and Natasha was all too happy to use me as a meat shield. I focused on Audrey Hepburn's voice and tried not to think about the faint lilac scent on Natasha's scarlet hair or the oil and sweat smell wafting off of Tony that I noticed more vividly than I would have liked. The closer he came, the more squished I was in between them. I wanted to say everything and nothing at the same time. If I said anything, Tony would turn it back on me. If I said anything, I would put my foot in my mouth. If I managed not to, Tony would put it there. So I listened to "Moon River" and focused on how much I hate Tony.

"Ms. Potts is aware of your continued presence here?"

"Pepper actually let me know that our evening was canceled, which, you know, doesn't often bother me, I'm a big boy, I can handle myself,"—whoa—"but what bothers me is when I learn that _I_ _apparently_ called to _cancel_ on a date with her that took a good two _months_ to get her to agree to."

"You'll have to excuse us, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Have you taken this up with Mr. Fury?"

"Oh I know this has to do with Fury, but what I want to know is when you got my voice sample and I'd like to let you know now, sweetheart, that most girls just ask when they want to hear my voice."

"Noted."

Then Tony was silent. He was silent and squished up against my shoulders and he smelled like sweat and oil and whatever rosewood scent was left of his Ambre Topkapi. I sucked at my lower lip in silence, trying to weather the storm.

A yelp might have escaped me when Tony put a hand on my chest and shoved me into the wall, effectively removing me from the equation. I hit the back of the elevator hard enough to knock the wind out of me and watched Tony step a little closer to Natasha like I'd never even been an afterthought. I wasn't an afterthought. I was hardly a foremost thought to Tony. Never.

"Alright, that was rude, but, ah... Just tell me next time. Tell me ahead of time, I could've called off the date with Pepper myself. It would've been better that way. She was pissed to high hell and back at me."

Wait, he wasn't reacting with his characteristic brat temper and smart mouth? I continued to keep my mouth shut out of interest at this point.

"I apologize on Mr. Fury's part if we have put any strain on your relations with Ms. Potts. But I do want to remind you what is at stake when dealing with SHIELD."

"Right, right, ah, that's... that's understandable, just, you know, it's one thing to forge someone's signature. Next time you forge my voice at least try not to make Pepper so pissed. And another thing—"

The light flickered and the rushing sense of a stop rolled over me. Instinctively I grabbed for the railings on the walls. I hated elevators just for this very reason. Dread was starting to fall over me, but I kept calm. I'd had enough panic attacks on elevators to last a life time. I was not about to look chicken shit in front of these people.

"—your elevator's broken." Tony finished his sentence and looked about.

"Your powers of observation..." Natasha replied. She spoke into a device embedded into her black sleeve, "Agent Romanova to Agent 12, we have a technical difficulty in elevator shaft 61-B."

"Technical malfunction confirmed." Agent 12 answered.

"Is it because I'm fat?" Tony chirped, looking down at the heavy suit.

"It's just a minor directory issue, Agent Romanova." Came the tech support's voice.

"How fast can you have it fixed?" Natasha asked.

"This is the second time today that 58 through 65 had this error. It's going to take us about thirty minutes to resume present functions. Would you like us to send a team?"

"Yes. Yes. Tell him yes." Tony intruded. I was nodding too. For once we could agree. Yes. Yes, a team sounded good. Get us out of here. Get us out of this hanging death box.

"No need. Proceed as normal." Natasha answered, "Romanova out."

"Wait, what? Why did you—" Tony was already bombarding her with questions before she looked up to the emergency exit at the ceiling of the shaft. With a few commands sent through a PDA-sized device, the emergency exit opened with a soft click and a slide. Oh, brilliant, right. She was a smart girl, she could handle it. She'd get us out of it.

"You'll have to excuse me. I have somewhere to be."

Both Tony and I were startled by the sudden hook shot that burst out of her sleeve and guided her out through the exit. She slipped out like some kind of fiery haired fairy and told us one thing before closing the door behind her: "You're big boys. Behave as such."

"Hey! HEY!" Tony called after her but it was pointless.

I squeezed my eyes shut and may have uttered a silent prayer. It was only so long before the elevator anxiety would become too hard to ignore. And all the while, Audrey Hepburn kept singing about moon rivers and huckleberry friends.

"She left us. She left us! She left me with you! Why did she leave me with _you_? Natasha! Natalia! Rushman! Rushmore! Big Red!"

"We got good music?" I tried to remain positive.

"You have shitty taste in music. JARVIS, get in there and see what you can do about this. At least throw on some Ozzy if you can?"

Asshole.

_"No access points available, Sir."_ Tony's suit had a voice. A voice and an AI of its own. Fuck my life and fuck him for being in it. _"Might I suggest you take this moment to develop your social skills with Justin Hammer? Your last voice entry implied an interest in—" _

"Mute." Tony interjected.

The silence that fell over us was nothing short of gold. I watched him look bitterly up at that emergency exit. He could probably reach it if he took off the armor and used it for a boost. I could probably... no, no I couldn't. I wouldn't. Fuck him. He was on his own. He was Tony Stark, he could figure it out. As the seconds ticked by, I found more and more how much I enjoyed Tony Stark when he didn't speak.

"Interest in what?" Why did I blurt that out? In as meek and pathetic a voice as I did? Just what was I expecting him to say?

Tony looked at me and shrugged with his deadpan sarcasm, "Oh, that, I don't know, maybe we could be friends and trade baseball cards?"

I grimaced and he shrugged. "Your loss, pal. Don't say I never extended the olive branch."

"What kind of branch was that?" I replied.

"An olive branch."

"That was a spoiled grape vine at best."

"Well, next time I need someone to pick out the fruit in my metaphors, I know who to call."

I took a seat, back against the wall, hands still cuffed. Tony paced around. Time wasn't moving nearly fast enough. Audrey Hepburn wasn't singing loud enough. I kept thinking back to what that AI said. Tony mentioned me? In some kind of voice diary? I won't lie, I'm a narcissist. I have always wanted to know what people think of me. I wanted to know what Tony thought of me. Maybe in that regard, I was a bit of a masochist.

"Hey, though, at least you're stuck in an elevator with Justin Hammer, right?" I forced a smug grin—never as sharp as Tony's, never as perfect, never as timed.

Nothing. Tough crowd.

"She's sort of a bitch, though, isn't she? Hot as all hell, though." I tried again.

"She's my—she's Pepper's secretary." Tony answered, finally.

"Like you've never tapped your secretary."

"I have no comment to that, I will also say that I'm not at liberty to discuss Miss Rushman's finer assets at this point in time."

Talking was doing good. Talking chased that doom and gloom away. Talking passed the time.

"Hey," I paused for a beat and was rather surprised when Tony actually turned to acknowledge me. Maybe that caught me off guard. "Tell me you found Vanko."

"Oh, your little mail order bride?"

I could have used that orange tootsie roll pop at that point. Something to bite down on.

"What can I say; I'm a sucker for baby blues."

"Vanko's taken care of. Not much left of him."

Tony stepped over beside me and took a seat. I was stuck in an elevator sitting next to Tony Stark. No—Iron Man. I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't a bit of a fan boy. I hated Tony as much as I envied and admired him. Here was the popular, perfect king of the school next to the bungling nerd who didn't know how to keep his mouth shut. I'd be a liar if I said I didn't sort of cherish the few times we'd spoken and not been at each other's throats.

"Thanks." I said.

"Don't mention it."

Silence followed before Tony added, "Seriously. Don't mention it. You're getting nice and it's creeping me out."

"Step off it, you act like I'm clawing at your pants or something."

"Thank god for titanium alloy."

I scoffed, "Alright, Narcissus. You win. Thank Zeus for your glorified chastity belt. What would your reflection ever do without it?"

Tony chuckled and looked at me. I would've said something if I didn't get that overwhelming sense of dread again. Like that elevator was going to decide it didn't like the weight of Tony's suit or something. Irrational fears were setting in.

"What? Do I got something on my face?" Tony said, rubbing at some dirt smudge over his left temple.

"Why'd you come back?"

"To tell Natasha to stop meddling in my love life. What, you think I waited here for a half-hour just to make your life hell? Because you really don't need me for that."

"Pepper's a smart girl. She's a good pick for CEO. Rational girls get over things."

"Why are you commenting on my love life? Is my love life suddenly the most interesting thing between covert ops and foreign policy now?"

"You're Tony Stark." I shrugged.

He shrugged, "That's true, I am Tony Stark, yes."

"What is this place anyway? SHIELD?"

"Why are you still talking to me?"

That was a good question. I had plenty more.

"I'm lost, you look like you know where you are."

"I'm new here, too. Sorry, can't show you where the library and the bathrooms are. I can tell you though that Big Red sits at the cool kids' table and no, you can't sit with her."

"Fair enough. We're both new and lost. Fine by me." I said, finally turning my gaze onto the doors. I wanted them to open. I wanted to see the sky and concrete and puffy white clouds. Though I had to admit, I was doing pretty well despite the anxiety.

"Fine, here, too." Tony answered, staring straight ahead as well.

"Totally fine."

"Complacent."

Nothing was fine. I was stuck in an elevator shaft with Tony Stark and I was going to die.

"We're going to die in here." I groaned.

"Pessimist."

"The support cables are going to snap and we're going to die."

"Are you saying I'm fat?"

"Just shut up and let me wallow in my impending death, alright, man?" So maybe I was cracking a little.

Just a little.

Tony did a wiggle-bounce. Like a jump. It rocked the whole elevator. He watched me like the sadist that he was and I screamed, clutching the wall and floor.

"S-Stop! Stop! Don't do that! What are you doing! Why are you doing this! Stop!"

"If we fall, I won't die."

"Tony! Tony, no!"


End file.
